


Philia, Eros & Philautia: Sol

by elshollow



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elementary School, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Language, Slow Burn, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2020-06-02 20:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elshollow/pseuds/elshollow
Summary: Gilbert Beilshmidt is the disappointment of his family. Rowdy, unruly, opinionated, disrespectful- he is the epitome of a problem child; a fact that, frankly, he couldn’t care less about. The embodiment of awesomeness, he is a wild soul that can’t help it, nor does he care to.A spin-off ofAunque me haga dañothat focuses on the relationships between Gilbert, Roderich, Francis, and Antonio, as well as the political developments of the town. A coming of age story about different forms of love and acceptance through the eyes of youth.Companion piece to Philia, Eros & Philautia: Luna





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is Gilbert Beilshmidt and you’re the disappointment of your family. Rowdy, crass, opinionated, disrespectful- you are the epitome of a problem child. Though, honestly, who gives a shit? Caring about what other people think is nothing but a detriment to your awesome existence, and you’d rather die than have anyone so much as encroach upon your freedom. You’re an awesome, wild soul and you can’t help it, nor do you want to. 

Your family is small- just you, your opa, and your perfect younger brother. You don’t say that with a hint of spite- you genuinely love little Ludwig, and are super proud of all his accomplishments as a musician, academic, and overall human being. He’s everything you’re not, and it brings you peace of mind knowing your grandfather didn’t raise two complete failures. 

You moved to the states back when you were in early elementary school, essentially as Ludwig’s plus one; your folks back in Germany immediately saw his potential and wanted him to be able to experience a ton of different things from a young age- a different culture being a good start. No one ever said it outright, but you’d bet money on them only sending you along just ‘cuz they got tired of you. Sucks for them for missing out, but you can’t blame them. Not just anyone can handle your glory. 

The first two worthy contenders were your current best bros, Francis and Antonio. You knew they were keepers the day you met them in your colorful (and smelly) elementary school classroom, which just so happened to have a few of those big bouncy workout balls (lol). Being the genius that you are, you thought of the perfect plan to get the ultimate bounce. 

“Trust me, this’ll work. I saw it on youtube.” You smile devilishly. 

“You sure?” Francis asks, his skepticism not at all keeping him from helping you out. 

“I hope it works, I wanna go next,” Antonio steadies the second ball above the one Francis is holding in place. “You’re not scared of getting hurt, Gilbert?” 

“No no no, you see, guys, the ground is made of that squishy foamy rubber stuff, so even if I fall, I’ll just bounce right back up,” You emphasize the legitimacy of your explanation by making an upwards hand gesture. No one can argue with that logic. 

Francis shrugs “Sounds right to me.” 

“Ok, hurry, before a teacher sees!” Antonio bounces in place. 

Your plan is simple- put two balls on top of each other, and jump on them from one of the tables in the playground. With Antonio and Francis holding the balls in place, you won’t slip and fall, and you’ll get double the air. You’ll get a few jumps in before doing a sick front flip onto the ground so the guys can have their turn next. 

You get one jump before both balls slip free and you take a nasty dive onto the not-so-squishy playground floor. 

That wouldn’t be the last time you’d dislocate your shoulder. 

_________________________________

“What’s the point? I pretty much know everything there is to know about music,” You say, as if it’s the most obvious fact in the world. Which it basically is. 

“Sure.” Ludwig responds, unamused. Never been a man of many words, that kid. 

“It’s really easy dude, it’s all math and shit. You’ll get the hang of it real fast, and if you don’t, I can just teach you!”

“Opa says you still have to join band. It’s either that or choir.”

You groan exaggeratedly and melt onto the kitchen table. How lame. Music is fun until someone tells you how to play and what to play and where to place your feet and hold your instrument- teachers are so annoying. They take it way too seriously for an elementary-school level band, but you guess it’s better than choir. At least you’ll have Antonio and Francis to keep you company. 

Speaking of which, they should be getting online soon. You scoot out of your chair excitedly and fast walk to the living room. Call of Duty has become a bit of a tradition for you guys on Thursday nights, since you all get done with chores at around the same time and it’s too late to go out and meet up in person. You grab your headphones before eagerly turning off the lights and closing the curtains to set the mood. You _live_ for zombie nights. 

“We’re gonna try to beat our record tonight, right?” Francis asks, voice slightly fuzzy. 

“Yup! Everyone just do their jobs- Antonio, and we should be fine.” You tease. 

“Yeah, I know!” Antonio replies, campy as usual. 

“And if you do happen to die- Antonio, try to at least not die in a place that’s hard for us to revive you.” 

“Oh my god, Gilbert, let's just start playing!” You can hear Antonio shaking the remote in anticipation. 

Round 3. Man down.

You sigh into the mic, exaggerating your tone, “Toni, buddy. Can you revive me please?” You know full well what’s to come. 

_“Do your job Antonio, try not to die, Antonio,”_ He mocks before teabagging you and almost cutting out his mic with his laughter. You roll your eyes, “Aw, shit! _Francis’”_ He whines.

You snort almost painfully, “That’s what you get, loser!”

“How am I the only one left alive,” Francis laughs, “This is so sad, we literally just started. On my way.” 

Francis lures the zombies away so he has time to jet back and revive you guys, “Finally, some fucking skills!” You exclaim playfully.

“Uh huh, says the guy who died first!” Antonio pouts. “Also, don’t curse, my parents are home!”

“You literally just said shit.” You huff in amusement, smiling at how much of a goodie-two-shoes your friend is. 

“Yeah, but the f word is way worse.” 

Francis screams into the mic, “Do we really have to play with the lights off? I hate turning around and seeing a zombie right in my face!”

“Yes, it’s part of the experience!” You respond, being extra careful not to embarrass yourself again. There must have been a glitch or something, you’re way too awesome to actually go down that fast. 

The familiar sound that signals the beginning of a hellhound round reverberates through your headphones, making your heart rate jump, “Nice!” 

“Oooh yea I love the round with the _perritos_!” says Antonio.

“They’re _hell hounds,”_ Francis corrects, emphasizing hell and hounds, “these kinds of rounds are so hard!”

“No way, they’re super easy dude,” You correct with no intention of offering a counterargument.

“You have no right saying what’s easy and what’s not after round three, lol” God, Francis is so annoying when he says ‘lol’ out loud. 

“Damn, this would be so much more fun with a fourth player,” you think aloud, “Ludwig!” 

“Ow, turn your mic down dude!” Antonio complains. 

You swiftly and skillfully put your mic output down, without it affecting your gameplay at all whatsoever, “You wanna get in on this?” 

A distant voice responds from the kitchen, “No thank you, I have homework.” 

“Lame, dude,” You exclaim in return. 

“Dude, your little brother is all business, huh? Does he ever play any games?” Antonio asks, the loud clattering of his button mashing all too audible. 

“I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen him smile.” Francis adds.

“I live with him and can confirm he hates fun and is allergic to smiling.” You exaggerate. “Wow, I’ve gotten nothing but shitty random guns, if we die soon it’s because of RNG.” 

“If we die it’s because you’re trigger happy which is the reason you have to buy new guns all the time, we literally just got max ammo.” Antonio makes a coherent point for the first time this year. 

“What am I supposed to do? Not shoot at the zombies?”

“Have you tried just being better?” Francis suggests, tone sounding completely serious. 

You all laugh wholeheartedly. Damn you guys suck, but hell if you’re not having the time of your life.  
_________________________________

You really don’t see the point of having best friends if you’re not going to ride or die for them- it’s just not your style. Which is why by the time middle school rolls around, the thee of you have made a pact: picking a fight with one of you means picking a fight with all of you. Which kind of sucks, since so many middle schoolers are assholes. 

“Ow ow ow ow.” You hold a tissue under your nose to catch the blood rapidly trickling down, “Jeez opa, be gentle with my beautiful face!” 

“Looks broken.” Your grandfather replies matter-of-factly after slightly tilting your head side to side.“I’m taking you to the hospital, don’t lean your head back.”

Ludwig definitely got the buzzkill gene from your opa. You slide off the bed in the nurse’s office and follow him to the car. Sweet, you get to leave school early. 

“What happened this time?” He asks. 

“Some jerk and his stupid friends were picking on Francis. Called him some real bad words that I wouldn’t dare repeat, because I never curse.” You want to laugh at your own response but immediately regret it, wincing at the ache in your nose. “Don’t worry, I beat ‘em all.” 

“I see.” You can never seem to read the old man. 

You hop into the front seat and shut the car door a little too hard, momentarily filling your head with waves of pain. “So what’s the punishment for today?” You’re curious to see how your opa plans on teaching you a lesson this time. 

“You’re going to help me at the shop.” That was fast. 

“The car shop?” 

“That’s the only one we have, yes” 

“…And?” You squint. Doesn’t seem too bad. 

“That’s it.”

“So slave labor?” You joke. 

“You’ll get an allowance, just not when you’re grounded.” 

“You’re making me real suspicious here old man, don’t tell me the car shop is a euphemism for something. I know I’m sexy, but I think the cops would bust you if you tried to make money off me in an underground strip club.”

You get a hint of a smile from that one, your elation almost beating out the pain still emanating from your nose. 

“Call a teacher next time your friends get picked on and maybe I’ll let you pick your stage name.” 

Your eyes light up, “Was that a joke? From old opa stone-faced? Never thought I’d be this lucky!” 

You love your old man. He may be more of a stick in the mud than Ludwig, but he never seems to gets tired of you. He just talks seriously, you’ve gotten to know him well enough to know that it actually takes a lot to get him angry. Second year into middle school and you’ve basically gotten into what is essentially the equivalent of one fight a month, and every time it’s gotten bloody he’s taken you to the doctor. Thankfully, not all of them have led to broken bones or bloody noses. Just the more exciting ones. 

“Your parents called today.”

“Did they ask if you’ve been able to tame my rebel spirit again?” you interject, “I’m telling you, it’s a lost cause, I’m as free as an unbroken stallion, opa, and just as hung.” God, you’re so fucking hilarious. You swear you almost see him smile again. 

“I’ll be sure to tell them next time.” 

You smile at his response, “Ok, really though, what did they want?” A call from your parents isn’t the most common thing, but it also doesn’t necessarily mean something is up. 

“They wanted to know if you’ve gotten accustomed to middle school.” 

“Two years in? Little late for that, don’cha think?” You snicker, not the first time they’ve been out of touch. 

“Would you ever want to go back to Germany?” 

The question makes your entire body go numb. Who would have thought that dread would be the best painkiller? “Like, for the summer? Or forever?” 

“Either one.” Your old man is nothing if not direct- always cutting to the chase, yet you somehow still feel like you’re out of the loop. The man is an enigma. 

“For the summer, sure, if the three of us went back that would be cool.” You start, fighting to keep your heart rate even. Could a broken nose fuck with your heart? Probably, right? “Toni and Francis would miss me way too much if I moved back forever, I couldn’t break their poor fragile little hearts. Let me remind you that this hot bod is in high demand.” You force out a laugh, searching for any pain or feeling to ground you again before asking the question you’ve been dreading for the past few years. 

Did they want you to move back? 

Your mind goes blank, somehow painfully overrun with deafening static, yet so eerily silent you can hear the sickly slide of blood running down your nose. There was no good answer to your question, it was the ultimate double edged sword of inquiries.

Either way, you’re too much.

Either way, you’re not enough.

Either way, you’re not wanted.

You’ve been avoiding the topic for years, a rather uncool thing for someone as awesome as you. Maybe its the pain from your broken nose making you delirious, but you decide it’s finally time to get it over with and move on. 

“Do they want me to move back?” 

“You decide if or when you want to go back. But know that you’re always welcome here.” 

Opa makes the turn into the hospital parking lot, a sight you’re intimately familiar with. “You gettin’ soft on me, opa? Should’ve known, not even someone as uptight as you could resist my charm. Maybe in a few years you’ll earn an autograph, though I’ll speed up the process if you give me the keys to your beer fridge.” You grin as awesomely as ever, but don’t look up to meet his gaze. 

Opa reaches his hand over your head, gently patting it and running his fingers through your hair.

Damn. Your nose sure fucking stings.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more insight into Gil's day-to-day life.

“You have any idea what you wanna do now? High school is basically right around the corner,” You ask Ludwig, swinging your feet in your chair as he prepares dinner for the both of you. 

“I’ve been considering a few things, but I’m leaning towards being a veterinarian,” You were kidding about high school coming right up, Ludwig is just about to start middle school. Though knowing how much of a stickler he is for planning things, he probably has everything past college accounted for already. 

“Cool, but we’ve never had any pets before, how do you know you like animals?” You ask honestly.

“I’ve always liked them, I’ve read a lot of books- especially on dogs.”

“Yeah, but reading is different from having one. Have you asked opa if we could have any pets? I’m sure he’d say yes, we have room.” 

Ludwig tastes the soup brewing over the stove, motioning for you to come over and handing you a spoonful as well. Oh fuck yeah, you love taste-testing, “I don’t want opa to have to spend the money.” Ludwig blows on the spoonful thoroughly before handing it over. 

“You’re in middle school, you shouldn’t have to worry about money. I swear, you skipped right over being a kid and went straight to being Opa 2.0.” You loudly slurp up the sample and hum in happiness, “That’s good shit. Fellow house husbands everywhere are shaking in their boots.” 

“I’m just being considerate.” Ludwig faintly smiles in the way your opa does when he’s holding back laughing at one of your hilarious jokes, for whatever reason. 

Every day Ludwig reminds you more and more of your grandfather, and not just in their boring no-nonsense personalities. They both have those stunning, clear blue eyes your parents would praise so often, feathery light-blond hair and dark, imposing eyebrows. If Ludwig slicked his hair back and let it grow out, he’d look more like Opa’s son than grandson, or even a younger version of him if someone took a picture of Lud and put a sepia filter over it. 

While you share some of their traits like their clean streak and kickass ancestry, the similarities end there. Ludwig is quickly showing signs of surpassing your height and muscle mass by the time he’s your age, and he’s far more disciplined in school than you ever were. You see the logic behind your parents putting all the cards on their young prodigy, Ludwig is going to grow up and be something special. 

“Let’s say you had an endless supply of money and space, what kind of pets would you have?” You lean against the counter, arms crossed. 

Ludwig turns the heat down and tastes another spoonful, pondering your question. “I’d have a lot of dogs.” 

“Really? Out of all the animals in the world?”

“Dogs are loyal, and I can build a mutually beneficial partnership with them.” You hand him two empty bowls which he promptly begins to fill. 

“I get you, dogs are pretty sweet.” Damn, Lud is really flexing his vocabulary words. 

“And you?” 

It takes you a few seconds of consideration, going through all the animals you can remember at the moment. “Birds are pretty cool, since they’re basically dinosaurs. Epic pet for an epic person.” 

Ludwig huffs in amusement at that, “It’s a little more complicated than that.” 

“Nah, they’re dinos. More I think about it, more I’m certain.” You smirk in self-satisfaction.

The two of you walk to the living room and pull the coffee table closer to the couch. You only help at your opa’s car shop two days a week, but even that little bit of work has made you appreciate your off days more. When you and Ludwig are both free, you like to eat together and watch a few episodes of one of the many series you’ve started; house hunting, interior design, interesting stuff like that. You think you and Lud would make a great team for one of those house remodeling shows; you’d get to have a blast tearing down the old houses and he’d enjoy the challenge of creating the floor plans. Both of you are decent at interior design- at least the basic parts. Your rooms are minimalistic and always clean, you stick to limited color palettes, and you know how to arrange furniture in a way that’s functional for day to day use and is easy on the eyes. Yeah, you’d be a sick team. 

“What’re you in the mood for today?” You hop on Netflix, scrolling through your recently watched section. 

“Any house remodeling show, I’m not picky.” Cool, you already knew what you wanted to watch but you like to give Lud a chance to voice his preference on the off chance he’s itching to watch something specific. 

“Nice,” you switch on one of your usuals and let yourself sink into your comfy leather couch, worn after years of wear and tear from a family of three hunky dudes. Ludwig may look serious on the surface, but you can tell based on the look in his eyes that he’s treating this like it's some sort of college lecture he’ll be quizzed on later- which is to say, fun for him. Ever the analyst. “What are you thinking about?” You take a sip of your soup before it has time to cool down and curse at the sudden sting of heat. 

“Nothing.” Ludwig is still staring intently at the tv, which shows a gay couple seeking help to remodel a house they’ve recently purchased.

You and Lud don’t talk about romance often. By which you mean never. You couldn’t care less about having love in your life and Ludwig rarely shares anything more personal than, ‘my day was fine.’ Which really doesn’t bother you, you value your privacy and respect Ludwig’s desire for it as well. Though that doesn’t mean you’ll happily live your life oblivious to what goes on in your little brother’s mind- you care about him, after all. 

“Would you ever want that? Settling down with a family?” 

Ludwig doesn’t respond right away, pensive, while still tuning into the developments on screen. “Yes, I'd like that. Though it'd be very far into the future.” 

Huh. Admittedly, that’s a little surprising. You didn’t peg Lud for a family man. Though it makes sense, since that sort of thing never called out to you; you guys are pretty much opposites. You enjoy the freedom of being an untethered spirit, “Would you want to stay here? Or move back to Germany or some other place?” Talking about going back home is never a pleasant subject for you, but this time your curiosity beats out your comfort. 

Ludwig finishes up his spoonful, chewing on a potato that sounds just a bit too raw. “Somewhere warm, cultural, safe. I have always loved the weather in Italy.” 

You smile at that. Today is full of surprises, “Ha! You’ve never even been. Reading about things in books will only teach you so much. Maybe next time we’re in Germany we can convince opa to drive us down.” 

“That would be nice.” He continues eating, and you decide to push the subject a little further. 

“Would you find yourself a pretty Italian girlfriend or pull up with the ol’ ball and chain already?” 

“I- I don’t know.” Out of the corner of your eye you can see he is a little flustered. It’s barely noticeable, because of his natural poker face, but your eagle eyes can pick it up nonetheless. You lean down and take a few chugs straight from the bowl. Damn, this shit is good. “That’s the kind of dog I like.” He adds awkwardly, gaze glued to the TV. There is a pretty handsome looking German Shepherd on screen. You chuckle, thinking of how appropriate his choice seems. You take mental note of the breed, and decide to give Ludwig a break for now.

“Remember we have that shelter near the beach. If I remember correctly, which I definitely do, they’re looking for volunteers.” A self-satisfied smile spreads across your face, and you nearly succumb to the urge to sigh at your own awesomeness. You’re such a great brother, “you should check it out.” 

Ludwig stills at that, “Thank you, I will.” 

The two of you sit in quiet contentment for a few seconds, which is abruptly interrupted by you adding some more of your absolutely necessary commentary to the remodeling show onscreen. You really enjoy times like these, just bonding with Ludwig, learning about whatever goes on in that pre-teen brain of his that holds the inner thoughts of a young man with intelligence so far beyond his years. You begin doing some calculations, figuring out how much money you’d have to set aside per week to have enough to get him a dog by his birthday. 

Your name is Gilbert Beilshmidt and you’re the best older brother anyone could ever ask for. 

________________________________

High school is so much worse than you ever thought possible. From day one everyone is telling you to join all the honors classes possible to beef up your transcript, decide what college you’re gonna go to, and pick a future career to slave away at until you die. You’re sick and tired of people telling you to plan out your entire life- you’re 15 for fucks sake. Is there no such thing as carefree youth anymore? 

You’re not stupid. You’re brilliant, actually. An endless well of potential- the only thing keeping you from putting all these idiots to shame is your own merciful desire not to, and the fact that you’ve always been bored senseless by school. The way the teachers care so much about their authority and you all meeting some arbitrary standards of intelligence, the stupid little ways they try to motivate you all to learn the most basic shit, the boring-ass assignments and pointless exercises- it’s a fucked up system, and hell if you’re going to play along. You’re begrudgingly ready to brace yourself for the next miserable four years. 

Each dreaded weekday morning is the same. You wake up exhausted and go through the motions of getting ready for school- counting down the seconds until you finally escape that hellhole for the day, only to do it all over again the next. You feel suffocated, unstimulated, and bored out of your fucking mind. 

Outside of school, you love learning. You love engineering, mechanics, construction, anything that lets you get your hands dirty. You also love anything that is high stakes- some would even call you a thrill-seeker. You believe you’d be much more suited for trade school or getting involved in stock market stuff, anything high-risk high-reward. 

Your diary entries are getting depressingly sparse, with less and less fun and exciting things to fill them with every passing day. You long for summer when you, Francis, Antonio- and sometimes Ludwig, just did whatever the hell you wanted. Call of Duty marathons, playing music aimlessly, loitering in the park and having those delicious _aguas frescas_ at Toni’s family restaurant. Now, your opa’s car shop is one of the last strongholds of fun left in your life. Somewhere for you to let your hands take over, occupying your brain with challenges that regularly keep you on your toes and at the very least provide a welcome distraction from your rapidly-increasing piles of schoolwork. You see the fruit of your accomplishments almost immediately and actually do stuff that affects people’s lives. 

Ok, maybe it’s not that big a deal, but it’s still way better than sitting in a classroom all day and with cars at least you can see the real-world results of your efforts. You’re drained, frustrated, and itching for any distraction from academics you can get your hands on. 

“My parents say I should sign up for the PSATs soon, that way I’m not unprepared when I take the actual SATs,” Antonio states, swinging side to side on a barstool in Francis’s kitchen. While you’ve never considered your family to be poor, Francis’s place really puts yours to shame. High ceilings, chandeliers, a marble-top kitchen island, his house feels like something out of a real estate catalog. Makes sense, since his dad has some corporate job with a big-name bank and his mom is a civil engineer. Francis should enjoy his mini-mansion while he can, since his love of the arts is gonna land him a job that’ll only be able to support a one-bedroom cardboard box, if he’s successful. 

“My parents said the same, we can study at that cute little coffee shop downtown, if you’d like.” Francis joins you and Antonio at the island, leaning on the edge and inspecting the kitchen timer, patiently waiting to see the results of his creation of the week. He’d been watching those Youtube videos that show you how to make gourmet desserts and you’ve never been happier because you and Antonio get to be the taste testers. 

“Yeah, sounds like fun!” Antonio absentmindedly responds, eyes glued to the fridge and slowly reaching his hand towards the handle. “You sure it isn’t ready yet? Let me just take a quick look…” 

Francis slaps his hand away, “You in, Gil?” 

“Nah. Count me out of any study sessions, I don’t need ‘em.” Your leg fidgets impatiently. This mousse has been setting for what feels like days. You’re tempted to just snatch it out of the fridge and take a feral handful out of the bowl. 

“Eh, I suppose it’s not that important yet, but I’d still rather be prepared than not.” The timer finally dings, and you all exclaim, “Finally!” in unison. 

You and Antonio immediately crowd Francis, desperately trying to sneak a glance at the highly-anticipated dessert. 

“Jesus, back up you savages, I could drop it!” You and Antonio quickly return to your barstools, plopping down with your hands in your laps like well behaved guests. Francis cautiously slides the bowl out of the fridge, giving you both warning glares to stay back as he delicately places the long-awaited dessert on the island. He gives it a once-over before finally handing over the spoons he’s been holding hostage. Francis is definitely both your and Antonio’s impulse control. 

You all take a spoonful (yours being the biggest, of course), and taste it at the same time. Your eyes flutter closed. “I’m so fucking glad you and Ludwig love cooking. One time I told him he’d be a great house husband.” 

“Sexism aside, I agree. He’s way better behaved than you and I’m sure he’ll just be even more tall and handsome by the time he’s in high school.” Francis says dreamily. 

“Hey, lay off my bro, cradle robber.” You point your spoon at him accusatorially before taking another generously-sized bite of the mousse. 

“Oh, speaking of which, who was that girl you were with? The one with glasses and long, blonde hair?” Antonio adds. 

“She’s our age, you fool, she’s just short.” Francis scowls. “But yes, her name is Sophia. Beautiful, isn’t she? You guys are my guinea pigs, once I perfect this mousse I’ll be making one for her.”

“Definitely take your time nailing the recipe” You speak through a mouthful of mousse. “Also, you plan on asking her out or what?” 

Francis scoffs at that. “As if, I enjoy the chase much more than the catch.” 

“Tch, player.” You grin. As expected from Francis. “I’d never waste my time chasing after someone, no one’s as awesome as me.”

“Uh huh, I’m sure that’s why you’ve never had a girlfriend.” Francis rolls his eyes.

“Hey, I’ll have you know the ladies are lining up to get a taste of me.” You narrow your eyes. 

“I bet they all go to other schools since I’ve never seen so much as one girl look your way.” Francis smiles passive-aggressively. 

“Where they go is none of your business.” You pout. 

Antonio laughs, “It’s fun watching you guys argue.” 

“Hey! Why don’t you pick on Antonio as much as me? He hasn’t had a girlfriend either!” Antonio is pretty good looking for a guy, so it’s honestly kind of surprising that he hasn’t had a girlfriend yet- or even a crush, really. He has a nice bod, lashes longer than you’ve seen on any other dude, and he’s super nice. The more you think about it, the weirder it seems. 

Antonio shrugs, “I dunno, I just haven’t found anyone I like yet.” 

“Ok, but that’s coming from the guy who watches _novelas_ with his mom every weekend. If you looked up ‘hopeless romantic’ in the dictionary, your face would be right there.” No way you’re gonna be the only guy taking the heat today. 

“Gil has a point, and didn’t someone confess to you just last week?” Francis adds. 

Antonio jumps in his seat, “You saw that?” 

“You really suck at hiding things. Also, yes, you were taking forever to meet up with us after school so I went to go look for you.” Francis states smugly. “What was wrong with her?” 

“Nothing!” Antonio spits out too quickly. “I just wasn’t interested. She was nice.” Antonio fidgets with his spoon and looks anywhere except at you guys. 

“Ok, weirdo. We all know ‘she was nice’ means she was ugly as hell.” You air quote. 

“That’s so mean!” Antonio gasps. 

You roll your eyes, “I’m just being honest, dude.”

“She was really pretty and very sweet, too bad for her she decided to fall for Antonio.” Francis smiles teasingly before taking another spoonful of mousse. 

“What the hell? So you’re telling me a nice, pretty girl finally gives you some love and you just flat-out turn her down?” You ask incredulously. “What are you, gay?” 

The mood shift is almost palpable. Your joking expression gradually turns into one of confusion. You sense the beginnings of an unfamiliar feeling prickling under your skin. 

Antonio looks anywhere but at you. The floor, the window, at Francis, and down at his fidgeting hands. The silence drags on, and the weight of your words begin to sink in. You’re not the kind of person who regrets his actions, but this here sure comes close to being an exception. “Toni?” You ask, hoping to restore the carefree atmosphere. 

“Yeah. I am.” He chuckles, devoid of his usual pep. It feels wrong seeing Antonio like this. So unsure, so heavy with insecurity. The comforting glint in his eyes gone. 

“Huh.” You manage, barely. Apprehension doesn’t sit right with you. You don’t fuss about your words- or even think much before speaking, really. Holding shit back isn’t your style, so you only let the awkward silence linger a moment longer. “Dude, both of you?” You gesture quickly and sloppily and him and Francis. “Are you like, together?” 

Francis rubs at the bridge of his nose, letting out an exaggerated sigh followed by unbidden laughter. “Christ, Gil, you’re so fucking ignorant.” 

With the mood of the evening restored, the tension in your muscles dissipates. “What!” You exclaim, offended. “I’m just asking!” 

“Doesn’t make your question any less stupid.” Francis rolls his eyes. "Though I do prefer stupidity over homophobia." 

Antonio finally laughs, back to his usual self, “Wow, great, I wasn’t sure how you’d react.” 

“Why would I give a shit?” You ask petulantly. “Francis is clearly gay and I don’t treat him any different. Just don’t flirt with me and you’ll be fine.” You shrug smugly. Francis had never come out to you guys officially, but based on how he talks about guys it’s a safe bet he’s gay. Or bi, or whatever the word is. 

“That won’t be a problem!” Antonio beams too easily. 

“Hey, what the hell is your problem? I’m super sexy.” You ask. Ok, just cuz you don’t want your bro flirting with you doesn’t mean you want it to be easy to resist. 

“Make up your mind!” Francis exclaims through laughter. 

“I just want to be desired but not pursued. Like you’re super attracted to me, but I’m always out of reach. It’s not that hard to understand.” You end flatly. It really isn’t. 

“You’re unbelievable.” Francis smiles and takes another bite of the mousse. 

“Unbelievably sexy.” You follow suit. 

Antonio falls into his usual jovial laugh, and your mind and body finally feel at peace. This is how things should be. Just the three of you, not a care in the world, the most stressful thing on your mind being the kind of dessert you’ll eat next week. You know that days like these are quickly coming to an end, a subject you’ve gotten used to neatly tucking away in the back of your mind. You refuse to let your time with Francis and Antonio be ruined by your brooding. A vague sentiment begins to form in your subconscious, a feeling of wanting to belong, to be accepted, to not be left behind. You can’t quite place if it’s fear or friendship that makes you consider joining them at their study session. To push yourself, go beyond your comfort zone and actually give a shit for once. The mousse on your tongue begins to grow bitter, matching the tone of your train of thought. You insist on your pace being deliberate, avoiding the question that has stained your high school life with thick and heavy discomfort. 

Even if you were to try your best, could you keep up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As of now, Sol and Luna take place a year apart. Gil is a year older than Roderich so at this point Rod is starting his last year of middle school (not yet having met Eliza). Let me know if you have any questions about the timeline! 
> 
> The aforementioned mousse: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqPgtVXL-rc 
> 
> Sophia is Monaco!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil goes on an adventure.....

School is starting to noticeably take a toll on you. You’re snappy, impatient, and your fuse is shorter than ever. Opa assigned you yet another day at the shop because of your sucky progress report, a decision that seems counterintuitive when you think about it. You’re supposed to do better in school by having less time to do homework? Shit just doesn't add up. But your old man isn’t stupid, and you’re sure he has some sort of logic behind his weird punishments. At least you like to think so. 

The cool thing about working more is that you also get paid more, which means more money towards Lud’s doggy fund and his college savings. You really aren’t a big spender and came to the realization that your money would be much better invested in Lud’s future, a decision that is the perfect combination of self-discipline and selflessness. Both of which you love getting credit for. 

“What is it exactly about high school that you despise so much?” Opa asks out of the blue, as usual. It’s hard to anticipate anything from him when he’s so quiet and serious all the time. The saying, ‘expect the unexpected’ comes to mind, and annoys you with its lack of clarity. 

“I’ve always hated school, it’s just stupid.” You grind your teeth subconsciously. 

“I asked about high school specifically.” Opa doesn’t look at you when he speaks, and instead continues to inspect the engine of the car he’s working on. You prefer it that way, having privacy despite your physical proximity and the intimacy of the subject at hand. His response irritates you, but he’s not wrong. Which just gets to you you even more. 

“They care too much.” You know why you hate school, but it’s hard to put it into words when someone asks you all of a sudden. This rhythm isn’t out of the ordinary, the way you and Opa go back and forth after you’ve been particularly unruly or offensive- you just don’t know exactly when it’ll happen. It’s his way of trying to understand you, and to help you understand yourself. You know he cares, but you’re already in a bad mood and it’s hard to flip the switch right away. Ultimately it’s for the best, and you go along willingly. 

“Your teachers have always cared. What’s different now?” He holds out his palm, eyes still focused on the project at hand. You pass him the tools he asks for wordlessly, a testament to the time you’ve spent working together. You lean back against another car in the garage, still close enough to reach out and touch your grandfather. You start to prod deeper into your feelings, his questions serving as a guide through the tumultuous mesh of overlapping emotions in your mind. 

“It’s different. It feels more personal now. Like, before they cared about us learning things on their agenda. Like they care, but they don’t. Only care about looking good and not really caring about kids learning things in the long-run. Just enough to pass a test and move on.” The floodgates open, and you feel the inklings of an epiphany. “Now, they care about what we do outside of school. It’s our whole lives. There’s no time to do anything but study and be part of a club and think about what we wanna do when we graduate, but that’s years from now. It pisses me off.”

Your Opa has begun tweaking things under the hood, though his actions don’t at all make you feel like he isn’t completely invested in your conversation. You know he just thinks on the inside. “Why does that make you angry?” 

You furrow your brows, not really understanding the question. You just said why, though he wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t hinting at something. You’re so close, you’re sure of it. 

“Well.. It feels fake, first off. I hate shit like that.”

“Language.” 

“Sorry.” You respond instinctively. You know what curse words you can say while just getting a slap on the wrist. “It doesn’t feel genuine, even though teachers always try to make it seem that way. The second you flunk a test or suck at a project they look at you differently, like you’re a lost cause. Like they don’t care what happens to you. It’s rare to find a teacher that actually cares.” 

“Does it matter if they actually care?” 

The question surprises you. When you really think about it…. not really, at least, not to you. You’ll do what you want no matter what anyone says. It’s mostly their facade that gets to you. Anything fake or disingenuous does. “Guess not.” You shrug. 

“What else?” 

You gaze up at the ceiling, reaching into the depths of your mind, your bad mood slowly subsiding. You like figuring out problems with Opa, he makes even your own issues feel like fun to solve. “None of it matters. Once you graduate, no one looks at your grades or checks your assignments. It just means nothing. So why should I care? All I need to do is finish.” 

“That’s true.” Ok, that was surprising. Didn’t expect to hear him agree to that one. 

“So I don’t need to do well in school?” You crane forward and leer at him quizzically. “So why the hell do I still get in trouble all the time?” 

He hands back one of his tools, which you begin to wipe down. “Because you’re missing the point.” 

“Hell yeah I am.” You exclaim in frustration. He shoots you a warning glance, and you sink back onto the car behind you, arms crossed in exasperation. Why the hell was he so damn cryptic all the time? Your words begin to spill out again, fueled by your insistence on finding an answer, “I care about things that actually matter, like when I work here. You actually help people. Everything at school makes me feel like I’m wasting my time, so why not just have fun instead?” 

Opa is silent for a few moments before he responds; you start to wipe down the tool in your hand more vigorously. “Theres a city council meeting tomorrow night, you can go instead of coming to work.” 

Yet another curveball. “City- what? I really don’t get you, but sure. Why not.” The thought of opa trying to get rid of you briefly flashes through your mind, and you force it down in exchange for a drop in your mood. You’re more confused than you started, but you trust Opa enough to follow his suggestions, even if you don’t understand his thought process. 

“Tell me what you think when you get back.” 

“Alright.” You respond flatly, yearning for an answer just out of reach. 

Your day at school drags on as usual, only slightly livened by the fact that your evening will be occupied by a lesson from your old man. All day you’ve been wracking your mind over what he could possibly be trying to teach you; how he’s guided you in the past. 

You’ve always been a hands-on person, so in retrospect it makes sense that Opa would put you to work somewhere that’s always bustling and requires a good amount of physical and mental labor, all under his own watchful eye. Now that you think about it, you did feel a lot better after working at his place. It helped you let off steam. 

But high school has presented you with new challenges, new frustrations and new obstacles. Just staying busy and productive after school isn’t enough to keep you sane, and now you’re onto the next stage of self development. Opa really has a way of instilling lessons in a way that don’t feel like he’s just lecturing you, a fact that you always appreciate once the metaphorical dust has settled. 

City Hall isn’t far from your house, about a twenty minute walk at a casual pace. You’ve passed by it plenty of times on your way to the beach but never paid it much attention other than occasionally admiring its architectural structure. 

The building looks different today. The same, physically, by psychologically it holds a new significance. In it lies a key, an answer, a revelation. Your mind starts to buzz with possibilities of what your grandfather could be trying to teach you, of what the million dollar answer to his question is. The facade somehow feels bigger than you remember, bigger in the sense that you realize that this is where the matters of the city are squared away. Where the decisions get made, where people make choices that affect thousands of lives. You had never considered it so consciously before. 

Though ultimately nothing could make you feel small, you smile to yourself. Political figures don’t intimidate you. No one does.

Your name is Gilbert Beilshmidt, and you’ve never been anything less than an equal. 

You pull open the unnecessarily large glass door and are surprised by what you find inside. Stunning marble walls, solid wooden desks, beautiful ivory furnishings. A spiral staircase leading to the second floor, expertly carpeted and cleaned. The interior looked like an upscale addition of Francis’s house. You’re stunned, shocked to find such a hidden gem in plain sight. 

Though your awe quickly turns to anger. 

You remember your neighborhood, unkempt and let go. You feel as if your streets have been ignored, overlooked. Your neighborhood isn’t necessarily dangerous, or filthy, but it feels neglected. How could two locations, so close in proximity, be so visually contrasting? 

With Francis it makes sense, he’s from the nice side of town. Everything surrounding him stinks of deep pockets, and even then there are richer areas of your city yet. But this is in your backyard. You recall the scenery on your way to city hall and it hits you that you didn’t notice the sudden change in environment until now. About two blocks surrounding city hall the sidewalks were suddenly cleaner, the trees more vibrant, the lampposts more maintained. 

You feel the urge to bite your nails, a crutch long since abandoned. 

The meeting should be starting soon, you remind yourself. No time to waste with stupid hold habits. 

The meeting room itself is yet another sight to behold. High ceiling, sturdy walls, impeccable wooden seats with plush cushions as far as the eye could see. Finest building you’ve ever set foot in by far. You grab a small packet off a desk near the entrance that everyone seems to have already and take a seat near the back. The Council sits upon a tall desk in the back of the room; a smaller, closed off section in front of them has seats for a few nobodies in suits looking at wordy books. Feels like a fancy courtroom, in a way. 

Only a handful of people litter the aisles. Mostly old dudes, some people around your parent’s age, no one even close to your age. You’re the youngest one by far; if you were the kind of person to care what other people thought of you you’d be self conscious. But that day would never come, you think smugly. 

6:00pm. The council sets the agenda into motion on the dot. None of the council members really stand out to you, in part because you don’t fully understand what they do. From what you’ve heard on TV, cities usually just have a Mayor who deals with all the boring business shit to keep the city running, so you figure all these people are like assistant Mayors. Upon squinting to get a better look at the placards in front of the council seated upon their almost comically high desk, you notice that there is, in fact, a Mayor. Only everyone seems to be speaking almost as much as him about issues you don’t really care about. Something about traffic lights, event permits, a toll road along the freeway. That last one catches your attention, it would suck to have to pay to get in and out of your own town.

You start to lose interest quickly thereafter, and opt to check out the packet you picked up. Seems like the timeline for the meeting is neatly laid out, so you’ll know what to fully expect. Closed session, regular session, public orals, council orals…. What the hell could your Opa be trying to teach you by sending you to a more boring version of class after school? There had to be something…. you skim through the packet, looking for anything that seems out of the ordinary or notable. The words and paper start to blend together until finally- 

Bingo.

Consent matter number 23. District 3 Animal Shelter Budget. 

Recommendation: Review 2014-2015 & 2015-2016 budget summary of the District 3 Animal Shelter and discontinue funding for the next 2-year term onward. 

No way you read that right. 

Cancel renewal? As in, stop giving them money?

Christ, Lud just started volunteering there, and now they were thinking of shutting it down? What about the animals? The people that work there? What will they put there instead? 

You notice your leg fidgeting wildly and will it to stop, focusing on anything but your boiling nerves. 

People from the audience have been talking about these issues, giving their two cents when they agree or disagree. Maybe you could say something to change the council’s mind? Wait, who did you have to convince, the council or the Mayor? All of them? The majority? You feel totally confused and powerless. 

But you’re Gilbert Beilshmidt, you make your own power. 

The infamous consent matter quickly approaches. 21… 22… 23….

“Any comment cards?” The Mayor asks some nobody in a suit. 

“None.” He responds.

“I got something to say.” You interject, walking towards the podium before anyone can get a word in. “Not sure how this works exactly, but people have been coming up here to say what’s on their mind so here I am.” 

“By all means,” The Mayor starts, “We have time for more comments.”

“Ok, so, first off,” You really have no idea what you’re going to say, you just know you can’t twiddle your thumbs and say nothing. “If I’m understanding this correctly, you guys plan on destroying the animal shelter, right? Or at least stop giving it any money. Why?” 

“Great question, what’s your name, young man?” The Mayor asks, his voice that same tone of fake politeness teachers often use on you when they realize you’re not some sheep that’s gonna be all obedient in class. 

You click your tongue, “Gilbert, Belishmidt. I don’t live far from the shelter.” You adjust the height of the mic and lean against the podium, meeting the Mayor’s gaze. 

“First of all, thank you for coming here and speaking. We love seeing younger generations care about their city. Second, me and my fellow council members and city staff have been reviewing the animal shelter’s expenses, and frankly, it costs too much to maintain. There aren’t enough volunteers and the facility itself is too large to keep up. There are state of the art rooms used to care for many specific exotic animals that aren’t even being used. It’s too expensive, and there’s nothing indicating that it would be wise to continue funding.” 

Something about this man pisses you off. He talks sweetly but you can pick up on his subtly condescending tone. “That’s not true. How long until you have to decide to keep on funding them or not?” 

He chuckles, amused with a hint of cruelty. “Not true? We’ve read the numbers. And as for the deadline, it’s fast approaching.” 

“Gimme a hard date.” You insist. 

“Three months.” The nobody from earlier adds. Nice. That’s all you needed. 

“Ok, give me three months and I’ll make that shelter worth investing in.” You grin. “Look, my little bro loves animals, he’s going to be a great vet one day. But even he didn’t know we had a shelter until I told him, and that’s because I found out by pure chance one day while passing by. The reason it doesn’t have volunteers is because literally no one knows about it. There are no fliers and the website is trash. If we spread the word, I’m sure more people would come. There are tons of kids looking for volunteer work my age.” Working at the shop with Opa taught you a thing or two about marketing. 

The Mayor leans back and glares down at the nobody who saved your ass. Another council member finally decides to speak up,“I motion for consent matter 23 to be further discussed and pushed to a later date.” 

“Anyone in favor say aye,” A different nobody adds. 

Three council members say aye. 

You stand still, puzzled, wondering what the hell just happened. 

“Thank you Mister Beilshmidt for your words, I’m excited to see what you can produce in three months.” The Mayor states unenthusiastically. 

Just like that? 

Just like that, the shelter didn’t shut down? A million thoughts zoom through your head, though the loudest one tells you to go back and tell opa what the hell just happened. 

“See you then,” You add, staring down the Mayor before turning around and leaving at a totally not awkwardly fast pace. 

The brisk walk back home flashes by in an instant. 

“Opa!” You yell, fumbling your keys and slamming the door open. 

“He’s in the kitchen,” Ludwig responds from the living room. “Gil, are you ok?” He asks with concern after turning the corner. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m all good. Super good. Just need to talk to Opa.” You almost forget to kick off your shoes as you hastily run to the kitchen. 

“How did it go?” Opa asks way too calmly, not looking up from the delicious concoction he's brewing in the pot on the stove. 

“Did you know? Did you know how easy it is to just… change shit?” You press your pointer and middle fingers against your temples and pace around his room. “All I said was give me three months and they were like, sure, why not? Give the crazy awesome high schooler three months to save the shelter, and they moved on. Just like that. Opa, it’s freaking crazy, my heart is racing.” 

Your old man finally breaks his gaze from the food he's stirring. “Good to hear it went well. Slow down and start from the beginning.” 

You plop down onto a chair at the table, trying to tame the storm in your mind. “It’s just so crazy. Have you been to City Hall before, Opa?” You let yourself fall back and stare at the ceiling.” 

“I have.” 

It takes about half an hour for you to finally explain what happened with as much calmness as you can muster. Which is to say, scarcely any. 

“You didn’t save the shelter, you just bought it more time.” Ludwig corrects you for the fourth time, deadpan. Opa and Ludwig are sitting by you at the dinner table, a lucky audience to your riveting story. The Hero of District 3 sounds catchy, you think to yourself. Or maybe you said it out loud? Not sure- either way, people deserve to hear your badass new title. 

“Better get to work, Gilbert. Those three months will fly by.” Opa states. 

“No problem at all,” You use your spoon to accentuate your hand gestures, “I have a ton of things planned already, I’m bursting at the seams with ideas. It’ll be great.” 

“I’m sure it will.” Opa states with more than a hint of fondness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This one took a while. If you have any questions abt the city this fic takes place in pls let me know!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, this was a lot of fun to write!! Please let me know if you like it, I strongly recommend reading the other work in this series, Philia, Eros & Philautia: Luna, to get the full picture, especially as the boys’ lives develop. More chapters will be up soon!


End file.
